


The Joke Is on You (And So Is Castiel)

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (in a fantasy), Abuse of Angel Powers, April Fools' Day, Awkward Boners, Bad Jokes, Butts, Crack, First Kiss, Fluff, Fooling Around, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Misunderstandings, Motel Rooms, No Sex, Poor Sam, Rimming, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1405048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"O Castiel, who art in Heaven, we pray that you get your feathery ass down here, pronto."</i><br/>Dean prays for Cas, but for some reason his prayers are answered literally. Now Castiel has an actual feathery ass - and from there, things only get weirder and progressively more inappropriate, until the unanswered question begs to be articulated: exactly what the hell is going on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Joke Is on You (And So Is Castiel)

It started the way things usually started: with Dean saying something stupid.

“O Castiel, who art in Heaven, we pray that you get your feathery ass to – uh―”

Sam checked the motel key. “Room 5, block C.”

Dean repeated, “Room 5, block C, Burbank Motel, Arkansas. It’s the one with the giant Easter egg out front, you can’t miss it.”

The air went _floomph_ , and Castiel arrived, hands neatly by his sides, tie no more askew than usual. “You called?”

His words were directed at Dean, who was sitting on one of the motel’s beds, but Sam was the one who cleared his throat and said, “Hey, Cas. It was me who needed you, actually. It’s about a case.” He pointed at the laptop in front of him on the table. “I’ve been flipping through these local files from the end of this month. Now we’re headed into April, the town’s been turning up a few―”

Sam’s explanation was cut short as Castiel yelped, leaping a foot into the air before landing again, eyes wide, looking like a startled cat.

Sam frowned. “What was that?”

Castiel looked down, then turned his torso as he stood on the spot, trying to look at something behind him. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I feel something strange.”

Dean’s eyes went to Castiel’s ass – but in his defence, Castiel’s hand went there first. Castiel squeezed. Dean clenched his own buttocks and tried not to pay any attention to his own body’s inner swoop of interest, a swoop which was nevertheless experienced. Dean’s eyes lifted back to Castiel’s face, seeing the tiny frown between his eyebrows.

“Can’t feel _that_ strange. Firm and toned, I’m betting,” Dean quipped, cocking an eyebrow.

“No. Well – yes, but that’s not what’s bothering me,” Castiel said, almost distractedly. He then presumed to put both hands on his belt buckle, and started to undo it.

“Hey! Whoa-whoa-whoa!” Dean stood up with a hand towards Castiel, trying to stop him undoing his pants. “What the hell, Cas?”

Castiel looked Dean in the eye and continued to slip his belt out of the loops, then unbutton his slacks. “There’s something itching me.”

“Wh- Yeah, okay, but you don’t undress in front of―” Castiel dropped his drawers. Dean turned around with a mutter of “Oh my God,” and stared at the ceiling as heat rose to his cheeks.

Sam squinted, not as bashful-slash-insecure as Dean was when it came to looking at men putting their hands in their underwear. Castiel pulled his boxers down, and it didn’t take Sam’s genius to realise his asscheeks were definitely not the right colour. “Cas, are those _feathers_ on your butt?”

Castiel stroked the feathers downwards. “It would appear so.” Each feather was smaller than a penny, and coloured black with a delicate blue sheen, like a magpie’s plumage. The growth petered out well before Castiel’s dangling shirt hem, covering just his buttocks and nowhere else.

Dean tried not to look, but there were feathers on someone’s butt, and that required at least one peek. The fact that the butt in question belonged to Castiel was an acceptable downside.

In actuality, it wasn’t a downside at all; he realised this once he’d turned his gaze over his shoulder and his eyes caressed the silken form of Castiel’s behind. If Dean had been able to see through the tufty feathers, he would have seen muscle. Castiel’s ass was perfect. Slappable, even. _Nibbleable_. The feathers might even feel kinda soft against his lips...

Sam and Castiel were both staring at Dean. Dean turned his back immediately, closing his gaping mouth. Goddamn it, he was blushing like there was something going up in flames behind his cheeks. It was probably his dignity.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said. Dean shut his eyes, expecting the inevitable teasing and sly jabs at his skewed sexuality. But then Sam finished his statement; “Didn’t you say something about a feathery ass when you prayed for Cas?”

Dean turned around, looking Sam in the eye. “Uh.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Your prayer was answered _literally_. Weird. That could be a big issue, maybe we ought to put our case on hold and sort this out instead.”

Castiel shook his head. “It could’ve been a simple miscommunication within the, ah...” he gestured vaguely, tucking in his shirt with his other hand, “angel airwaves. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Sam hesitated, but then Castiel clicked his fingers and all the feathers puffed away, floating and twirling to the floor. Dean saw the creamy-smooth complexion of Castiel’s ass, and his mouth slid open again without his noticing. His head tilted, admiring the shape from a slightly different angle. Then Castiel tugged his trousers back on properly, and Dean’s distraction ended. He went to flop into the nearest bed, hiding his too-hot face.

Sam smiled at Dean, then at Cas. Castiel did up his belt, a clear sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

Sam then turned his laptop towards Castiel, and resumed explaining the case he was stuck on.

⌘

The second time wasn’t any better. Only two hours had passed since the last summoning; Castiel had flapped away and gone to look for dragon bones or fairy wings or something. Dean would have paid more attention but his mind had been full of the well-defined _angular_ quality to Cas’ ass, and the little skin wrinkles at the top of his thighs. Maybe there had even been some peach-fuzz hair, and Dean would have known for sure had he gotten the chance to touch. And squeeze. And test the jiggle, there must’ve been a jiggle.

Sam’s voice drifted into Dean’s thoughts, and all Dean heard was “need to call Cas again.”

Okay, so despite the _entire_ two hours that had passed, Dean still wasn’t paying attention. “What?”

“I said― Jeez, what’s up with you today? Actually I don’t want to know. I _said_ , you need to call Cas again. I need his expertise on this Enochian translation.”

“And why can’t you do it yourself?” Dean asked, pushing himself up to a sitting position on the bed. “You have a mouth, don’t you?”

Sam sighed. “ _If_ you’d been paying attention, you’d have noticed that I already called him. No answer.”

Dean huffed, unsurprised. “Fine.” He licked his lips, readying a sentence which did not include the words “feathery” or “ass”. He took a breath, and called to the room at large, “Okay, Cas. Round two. If you’ve got your ears on, this is me prayin’. Get your ass down to this room, pronto. Sam’s got some linguistic problems he’s incapable of solving himself.” Dean internally smacked himself for slipping the “ass” in accidentally. It wasn’t his fault his mind was full of angel butt.

A flutter of heavy wings marked Castiel’s arrival, but he didn’t arrive standing up. With a winded “Oof!” he landed on the motel room floor, trenchcoat splayed out around his bent knees. He was sitting back on his hands, ass planted on the carpet.

Sam frowned down at him. “What happened?”

“Oh, I get it,” Dean chuckled. “I said ‘get your ass down to this room’.” He looked up at Sam, grinning. “It went literal again.”

Sam didn’t stop frowning, and his frown went from Dean back to Castiel. “You okay, Cas?”

“Physically, yes, although I do believe my rear is now exhibiting a minor bruise. And... I am unable to get up.”

Sam got to his feet before Dean could react, and swung a hand down to grasp Castiel’s. Sam pulled, but Castiel grunted, and a flicker of pain crossed his expression. “Too much?” Sam let his hand go, and Castiel set it back to the carpet to hold his torso’s weight.

“I feel heavy,” Castiel said. He twinged, slapping a hand on his knee. Sam assumed he was shaking himself free of whatever curse was holding him. Before Sam said anything about this, Dean had gotten up and was holding both hands out to the floored Castiel.

“I’ll help,” Dean said brightly. “Cas only answers _my_ prayers, so it’s gotta follow that his prayer glitches could be overcome with _my_ help, right? Easy; one really big _pull_ ―”

Dean lifted Castiel from the ground and they toppled over into the nearest bed, Castiel front-down against Dean’s stomach. Dean was left breathless, having realised too late that Castiel was no longer supernaturally glued to the carpet.

Sam stood and watched in astonishment as Dean and Castiel then began a very awkward wriggle in order to vacate the other’s personal space. After ten, maybe fifteen seconds of “Shit, that’s my crotch,” and “Ow, ow! Cas, hands! Watch your hands!” Sam mentally pinpointed the clear winner of the unsubtle mutterings: “You have very robust thighs, Dean.”

Dean’s cheeks were thoroughly pinked by the time Castiel was standing up again. Dean remained sitting down with his hands folded in his lap, hunched over. Sam wasn’t an idiot, he knew what was happening behind those hands. He looked away, sparing Dean’s cheeks from taking on a fire hydrant colouration.

“So, Sam,” Castiel turned to the motel table, at which Sam had taken a seat, “What was it you needed me for?”

Sam allowed a few seconds to tear his brain away from the whole thing with Cas lying on top of his brother and moving his hips around. Blinking, he tugged all his printouts closer. “I needed you to take a look at this,” he said, trying his best to not glance at the bulge between Castiel’s legs. If anyone was going to stare at that bulge, it was going to be Dean.

⌘

The third time Cas showed up that day, Sam didn’t even call him. Technically, neither did Dean.

When Dean’s mind examined the subject of butts, he had a predisposition toward thinking about kissing, too. Butts and kissing went together. Grab butt. Kiss mouth. Finger mouth. Tongue butt. It was a very beautiful oroboros of thought, in his opinion.

Everything Dean had been thinking was vague and hazy, but there was no denying that today’s mental dwellings centred on Cas, specifically the pale globes of his posterior and, subsequently, his mouth.

The exact transcript of Dean’s thoughts went like this:

Dean: _Mmm, mm, mm._ (His nose was between Castiel’s buttocks, his tongue licking all the wrinkly bits of Castiel’s butthole. He was determined not to think about what it tasted like.)

Castiel: _Oh, Dean, ohhh!_ (He was thrusting into a pillow, sweating, with his fingers gripping the sheets. Dean had decided that ruining a motel’s bedsheets was a very important part of the experience.)

Then there was some movement, flip-flopping of weight in the bed; Dean didn’t bother detailing all the sensations, knowing there was a decent amount of ass-grabbing and genital-touching was good enough. He wanted to hurry it along, because the next part of his fantasy was going to be kissing. No matter what else he ever did in bed, for him, kissing was the single greatest sensuous possibility mankind was ever blessed with.

His imaginary self slunk over Castiel’s naked body, rasping skin to skin, lips wet and expectant as they slowly moved to meet Castiel’s...

This was the best bit. This was where Dean whispered, “ _Kiss me,_ ” eyes low on Castiel’s stubbled jaw, then flicking seductively to meet his spirited summer blue. Cas’ gaze would be dark and longing, and his cheeks would have that high tinge of pink, his lips a tiny bit swollen because he wanted it so badly. And he would wet those lips with the very tip of his tongue, and breathe heat into Dean’s mouth, ready to reply with words or a gesture, Dean didn’t yet know which. He leaned in close enough to taste saliva riding on the warmth of his sigh, so _unbearably_ close―

Dean’s eyes snapped open, his fantasy falling away as the bed he was lying on depressed under someone else’s weight. His breath hitched; it was Castiel, crawling on his knees towards Dean. It was like his fantasy, set back five minutes. But this was real. This was actually happening. Sam was still sitting at the motel’s breakfast table with his laptop.

“Uh― Cas?” Dean scrambled to sit up, lips separating in his sudden unrest. “Cas, what are you doing?”

Castiel was inches away – then fewer inches, as he climbed into Dean’s lap, legs apart over Dean’s thighs. Dean gasped slowly, feeling a mix of sexual exhilaration and emotional confusion as Castiel sat squarely on his fantasy-provided semi-erection. “You prayed for me,” Castiel explained, his voice dipping low into the realm of Unfairly Sexy.

“N-no I didn’t,” Dean stammered, spine pressed straight up against the bed’s headboard, hands clenching Castiel’s Unfairly Sexy thighs. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You definitely prayed,” Castiel said. His blue gaze was intense to the point where Dean felt his dick melting. Or... leaking. Oh, fuck, he was oozing pre-come into his pants. “I don’t think prayers command much differentiation between the said and the unsaid. Thus: you prayed for me.”

And with that, he leaned in to kiss. Dean blinked past the _really close_ part, and when he next had a thought, it was regarding the fact Castiel’s tongue was in his mouth.

Oh dear _God_.

Despite everything he’d fantasised, when it came to the kissing, Dean was the one who couldn’t help letting out a long, tongue-suffocated moan of “Ohhhhmm.” He shut his eyes and turned his head, hands fisting into Castiel’s trenchcoat, into his shirt. Castiel’s mouth was hot, his tongue sinfully twirly, his jaw fierce as it worked to render Dean’s lips a stunned, plush pink. Dean moaned again, dizzy and breathless.

Castiel’s hands were in his hair; they pulled, springing reactive tears into Dean’s eyes. Then he bit Dean’s lip; teeth sank gently into soft flesh. Both offered the good kind of sting. Dean gasped, pushing his groin into Castiel by accident.

Castiel snorted and pulled away, chuckling as he fingered saliva off his lips. He climbed off Dean’s lap and off the bed as efficiently as he’d gotten on, like he was hopping off a carnival ride. Dean could have prayed for him to come back, but Castiel cleared his throat, brushed down his rumpled clothes, then glanced up and stared soulfully at Dean. Just like that, Dean didn’t know what to say, he wasn’t sure what had happened.

Castiel gave a little smile, and a moment later the warm imprint of his smile was all that remained; he was gone.

Dean let out a huge, confused breath, looking over at Sam. Dean couldn’t deny the weird upset feeling in his gut; he wanted more kisses, and he wanted an _explanation_ , dammit. Smooching was nice and all, but Dean actually liked Cas as a friend, so it seemed essential to understand the new boundaries, given that they had clearly changed.

Sam closed his laptop so it clacked. “All right. The case is officially on hold until we find out what’s going on here,” he said, in a reasonable, non-judgemental tone. Dean was grateful for his brother’s calm manner; inside he was asking himself very difficult questions in rapid fire, and it probably showed on his face. Admittedly, he was scared by how fast this was happening.

“I- I swear,” he struggled to say, “I didn’t pray for him. Not for that, not for the – the makeout session.”

Sam squinted thoughtfully. “You weren’t, I don’t know – thinking about it?”

Dean’s skin flared as hot as the sun for a moment. “No!” He glowed hotter at the lie. “Maybe!” He started panting, needing to cover his face with a hand. “Look, it was just a little... fantasy. Harmless. I thought he wasn’t in my head any more, I figured – it was okay!” He stared imploringly at Sam, hoping to God he understood and wouldn’t assume Dean was jacking off to thoughts of his best friend every third or fourth night. While it would’ve been a truthful assumption, Dean didn’t want Sam to know. Telling him this much outright was bad enough.

Sam busied his hands with papers, but his mind was obviously still on Dean’s plight. “You really didn’t ask him for anything?”

Dean’s breath fluttered. “Well.” He gulped. “I guess I could’ve _maybe_ thought something which could _potentially_ be interpreted – _mis_ interpreted as something I wanted.”

Sam was smiling slightly. “Aaaand I can assume,” he glanced up at Dean, “that that had something to do with a kiss?”

Dean frowned and stared at his socks, wrapping his arms around his bent knees. “Don’t judge me, all right?”

“I’m not,” Sam said.

“All I did in my head was look at Cas and – so help me, I asked – _told_ him to kiss me. That was seriously all it was. No ‘I pray for a repartee of tongues’. It was just a stupid thing in my head. And it wasn’t even serious, or anything, we were just―” Dean shrugged, “foolin’ around.”

Before Sam could voice his amusement at Dean’s requisite need to define the exact nature of his imaginary relationship, Castiel had arrived back in the room, presumably to make good on Dean’s accidental prayer for a repartee of tongues.

One second later, Dean was flat on his back, Castiel was straddling his hips as he lay on top, and Dean had gone straight from ‘jilted’ to ‘hey handsome’. He was grinning, but the grin disappeared as Castiel’s lips crashed into his, and their mouths drew patterns on each other.

Dean’s eyebrows raised, his eyes closed. Christ, he couldn’t believe how good a kisser Cas was. Everything was obnoxiously present and smothering – Castiel’s tongue, his breath, his hands in Dean’s hair. God, his hips, his hips grinding down into Dean’s. Dean was lost in the soft shelter of the little noises Cas was making, almost-there whispers of “Mmh, oh yes, oh yes,” muffled between kisses and squelching, wet sounds. Castiel tasted bitter like fresh limes, as well as sweet and exotic, like mango. And like dusty fumes beside a racetrack, heart-pounding, too fast, revving an engine in Dean’s head. Dean was going to pass out, and not only because Cas didn’t understand the concept of breathing.

Castiel rolled them over, and Dean cried out as the movement overwhelmed him – he gasped for air, and his head cleared of lovesmoke for only a second before Castiel grabbed his head and wrenched his mouth back down. Dean gasped over his lips, running the tip of his tongue across stubble, his nose dipping into Castiel’s cheek.

“Oh, Jesus, Cas, _yeaaah_ ,” Dean murmured, dizzy. So dizzy.

Castiel laughed, legs hooking up around Dean’s hips. Dean didn’t understand how this was actually real, why it was happening, how they got here – but he wasn’t complaining. No way. Cas had him surrounded with his sturdy limbs, squashing Dean’s erection between their clothing. His body provided the perfect pressure of muscle to wanting heat.

“Um,” Sam said. “Look, if Cas is cursed right now, maybe this isn’t the best time to satisfy all your confusing urges?”

Dean found himself on his back again, Castiel’s weight pushing on his erection. Cas was hard too, holy crap. But Sam’s input had broken the spell, and Castiel turned his head to look over at him. Dean couldn’t stop staring at Cas’ pretty face, though. Pretty eyelashes, pretty lips. Pretty panting breaths moving his Adam’s apple.

The prettiness lessened when Castiel started to frown.

Sam frowned back, wondering why Cas was frowning. “What, what is it?”

“I thought you’d have realised by now,” Castiel said.

Sam frowned some more. “Realised _what_?”

Castiel’s mouth formed a word, but didn’t complete it. His eyes shot back to Dean, and Sam saw the moment Cas went from confused to legitimately scared. A blink of a moment later, he was gone, and Dean was left nestled among ragged blankets, without lips on which to land his reaching kiss. He sat up, looking around in dismay as he saw Castiel was again absent.

“He’s gone,” Dean said, like he couldn’t believe it. “Sammy, where’d he go?”

Sam shook his head, not knowing. He felt Dean’s hurt; Cas was a cruel man to leave without a word in a situation like this. “Maybe he was pulled away,” Sam mused. “He’s got a war to fight.” He hoped equally that it was true and untrue. If it were true, Castiel could be in battle right now. If it were untrue, it begged the question of why he would abandon Dean at such a volatile turning point in their relationship.

“Let’s blame it on the curse,” Sam said. “I’ll start digging, see what I can turn up. Not much out there on angel curses, I’d imagine, but it’s worth a shot.”

Dean nodded dumbly, lips parted, eyes staring blankly at the TV opposite the bed. “Yeah,” he muttered, “okay, whatever.”

⌘

Fifty-four minutes later, Sam was in the middle of reading out the entirety of his findings, which incidentally were about as relevant as a fresh-baked loaf of bread was relevant to a yoga class for robots. That is to say, not at all.

“That’s enough, I get it,” Dean interrupted. “We have no freaking clue why my prayers are turning literal. Or why Cas is apparently forced to act on them. The best thing I can think of right now would be to pray and ask him to bring pie. And a couple thousand bucks, and maybe throw in a new pair of boots or something.” He sighed, chin tucked down against his knees. He was awfully miserable.

Sam watched in silence, saddened by Dean’s morosity. Cas had really hurt him.

Without fanfare, Castiel popped into existence. “Hello,” he said. His shoulders were slumped, wearing an effluvium of sheepishness like a second coat. “Those were very reasonable prayers, Dean,” he said gently. “Consider me impressed by your restraint.” He offered Dean a new pair of boots. When Dean stared and didn’t take them, Castiel lay them on the foot of the bed, eyes kept down in a humbled manner. “I’m sorry I left.”

“Damn right you should be,” Dean said, but without the heat Sam expected of him. Rather, Dean sounded utterly wounded, almost like he wanted to cry. “Cas, we weren’t just in the _middle_ of something, we were in the middle of something kind of... hell – _really_ important. To me. Important to me. And to you, I think.”

Castiel breathed softly, setting a bag containing a pie box beside the boots. From his pocket he produced a massive wad of greyed bills, showing it to Dean before putting it on top of the pie box.

Sam chuckled under his breath. “Any chance you’d tell us where you got all that stuff?”

“I bought the boots and the pie with the money,” Castiel said quietly, not looking at Sam. “Well, I stole them and left the money in postliminary payment rather than making a real exchange – but I had two seconds to do it, so I don't think the vendors would have noticed anyway.”

“And the money? Where did that come from?”

“I think that might be best left unsaid.” Castiel smiled ever so slightly, his eyes sliding to meet Sam's. Sam gave a crooked smile, but the smile evaporated when he saw Dean’s shattered expression.

“Cas,” Dean whispered. “Cas, why’d― Why’d you take off?”

Castiel swallowed, putting his hands into his pockets. “I, um... freaked out.”

Dean smirked. “What, my sexual prowess too much for you?”

Castiel chortled lowly, shaking his head. “No. No, that’s not it. I realised I’d done something very wrong, and thought the best way to fix it would be to remove myself from the situation until I knew what to do next.”

“Not everything can be fixed with pie and money, Cas. But, heh... some things can be. Nice try.” Dean smiled for real, which made Sam’s weighted concern feel significantly lighter. “But,” Dean continued, “what do you think you did wrong?”

“I'm not cursed, Dean,” Castiel said, frowning again. “I didn’t realise you hadn’t seen through it yet.” His eyes turned on Sam, and Sam felt frustrated with himself for not guessing it earlier when Castiel lifted his hands to form air quotes; “It was an ‘April Fool’.”

“What?!” Dean laughed out loud, not due to amusement, but instead due to incredulous discontent. “Cas, what the hell is wrong with you?” The smile slipped away, and his eyes became old and tired and hurt. “You were just kidding around. Kissing me – why? For shits and giggles?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Precisely.”

Sam put a hand against his forehead, unsure if it were possible to feel any more disappointed with Castiel. Dean genuinely seemed to be at his wits’ end, tears welling up, blinked back.

Castiel looked as appalled by this revelation as Dean did. “I’m – I’m sorry. I thought you knew it was a joke. I've researched human customs, I know it’s not funny unless the receiving party understands what’s happening. This... This wasn’t... funny. I’m sorry.” He turned his face towards the window, eyes wide and glistening.

“So you, what – don’t feel the same way about me, or...?”

Castiel looked back at Dean with nuclear ferocity. “Dean! Of course I do! The only part of this that was a joke was the part where I made a fool out of myself.” He grinned, “I grew feathers on my buttocks, and made myself weigh more than I really do. I’ve watched all of the cartoons you recommended, I thought those particular gags would be amusing to you.” His gaze softened, and he took on a kittenlike gentleness. “The part where I kissed you was just for fun, an extension of the prank where I obey your prayers literally. Having overheard your fantasies, I thought you might like to share a kiss. I’ve been hugely mistaken, and again, I apologise.”

Dean scoured Castiel's eyes for lies, for more trickery, anything designed to hurt. But he saw only embarassment and shame, emotions that made Cas simultaneously look like a wet rag, and a big teddy bear that Dean dearly wanted to squish in a comforting hug. When Castiel’s lower lip wobbled, Dean decided he ought to act before Castiel busted a water pipe.

Standing face-to-face with Castiel, Dean slipped each hand into either of Castiel’s coat pockets to pull Castiel’s hands out. His skin was warm, his knuckles dainty. Dean’s thumbs rubbed the soft skin on the backs, looking him in the eye. “I did like it, Cas,” he said softly. “I liked the kissing.” He smiled as Castiel swelled with hope, eyes brightening, lips parting. “But you’re a _stupid idiot_ , why couldn’t you have done something properly funny, like turning Sammy into a parrot?”

Castiel's mouth hung open. “I... will take that under advisement.”

Dean snorted, head drooping until he headbutted Castiel’s shoulder. He squeezed both of his hands, growling at him.

“So,” Castiel inquired, “does this mean you would be interested in sharing another kiss? Or are you still angry at me?” He spoke tentatively, as if expecting to be shouted at.

But Dean lifted his head, and gave Castiel a very solemn, surprisingly adoring look. Sam saw a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. Then Dean nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled, lowering his chin to his sternum.

Castiel caught his chin with crooked fingers, and Sam watched Dean’s breath pause, tongue curled behind his parting lips. Dean’s eyes stayed down until the very last moment – but when Castiel closed the distance, and empty breath rolled between their lips like shotgun smoke, Dean’s eyes were on Castiel. He gazed at him until Castiel shut his eyes and turned his head, and then Dean closed his eyes too, hands going to hold the back of Castiel’s neck. Their mouths met, as a river would meet the sea. Castiel’s shoulders slumped as relief stole over him.

Sam watched their two bodies pull and press to each other, linked at the hip. Dean would push their lips forwards, then would pull backwards so Castiel took over. It was like a dance. A repartee of tongues. They passed the connection back and forth until Dean was moaning on every other lip-locked tumble, a fist tangling into Castiel’s ruffled hair.

Dean may have at one point reached to grab Castiel’s ass and give it a good squeeze. Castiel squeaked in surprise, but soon afterwards he moved to return the favour, somewhat less conspicuously.

Sam tilted his head, examining the odd angles Dean and Castiel’s sharp jaws let them achieve. Strange. Strange but good. Sam smiled, then folded his arms and leaned closer to the table to open his laptop, leaving the other two alone with their tongues and their hands and their weird little fantasy-come-true.

He'd let them enjoy this. He couldn’t wait for Dean to get to his car later and find the very loud and annoying surprise Sam had left for him there. Like the aforementioned tongues and hands and the relationship level-up, it would all come in good time.

{ _**the end**_ }

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to winglesschester for speedy beta work. Also, shoutouts to everyone who has ever been on the wrong end of a bad prank. Hopefully it wasn't as train-wreckish as Castiel's.
> 
> Please go right ahead and leave me kudos if **a)** you enjoyed the fic, or **b)** you too would be amused by Sam as a parrot.  ("Squaawk! But get this! Squaaawk!")


End file.
